


look more carefully

by pyrophane



Series: throw iron on the fire [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Consensual Violence Undertones, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gunplay, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: “You’re going to ruin it, though,” Renjun says, eyeing the gun. It’s a wary look, but not without interest. More considering than apprehensive, at any rate.“That’s fine,” Jaemin says cheerfully. “Not like I have a shortage of these.”Renjun glances up, arches an amused eyebrow. “You know, Donghyuck already thinks you’re a serial killer,” he says. “You are not helping your case at all.”





	look more carefully

**Author's Note:**

> lmaooooo ok so guess which clown got ruthlessly baited by the puff lives AGAIN
> 
> it's not really relevant to the fic but this is theoretically in the same verse as such an obvious secret... idk please suspend your disbelief as to why and how jaemin would be in possession of firearms, it's jaemin...
> 
> thank you everyone on tl who put up with me through the writing process i love you guys T_T <3

 

 

 

 

 

The gun is a Beretta, one of the first ones Jaemin ever bought, sleek chrome grey, elegant and gleaming where it’s balanced on his open palm. “You can take a look if you want,” Jaemin offers.

Renjun runs his fingertips over the engraved logo on the barrel. He lifts the gun off Jaemin’s palm, fitting his hand around the grip. “I thought it’d be heavier,” he says.

His index finger curls around the trigger. Almost lazily, he swings the gun up so it’s pressing up against the base of Jaemin’s ribs, and Jaemin’s heartbeat explodes into double time.

“It’s not loaded,” Jaemin says. Suddenly he’s hyperaware of the rhythm of his breathing, the counterpoint of his pulse underneath.

Renjun snorts. “I should hope not,” he says. The muzzle drifts higher, tracing a path up Jaemin’s sternum, and comes to a rest right in between his collarbones, the metal startlingly cold against his bare skin. Jaemin holds himself still. The gun isn’t loaded, but if it was— “Actually dying makes sex kind of difficult, wouldn’t you say.”

“In French they call orgasm _la petite mort._ ” He’s probably butchered the pronunciation, but experience has taught him a confident delivery absolves all wrongs. “The little death.”

“Of course you’d know that.”

Jaemin grins and lowers his head so the gun is nestled more snugly against his throat. Obligingly, Renjun shifts his wrist to push the muzzle flush against the underside of Jaemin’s chin, digging into the soft skin. The motion tilts Jaemin’s head back up, and he has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Renjun. “What do you say?”

“Let’s recap,” Renjun says, driving the tip in a little harder, enough that Jaemin can feel a resistance when he swallows. “So you want to put this gun. _In_ me.”

“Basically, yeah,” Jaemin agrees. It’s hard to give Renjun hopeful eyes with his head tipped back, but he does his best.

The pressure at his neck lifts. Jaemin straightens up, surreptitiously rubbing his throat while Renjun turns the gun over in his hands. “You’re going to ruin it, though,” Renjun says, eyeing the gun. It’s a wary look, but not without interest. More considering than apprehensive, at any rate.   

“That’s fine,” Jaemin says cheerfully. “Not like I have a shortage of these.”

Renjun glances up, arches an amused eyebrow. “You know, Donghyuck already thinks you’re a serial killer,” he says. “You are not helping your case at all.”

“So… is that a yes?”

“Hmm.” Renjun fiddles with the safety, but there’s a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth that Jaemin’s dying to kiss, so he ducks forward, is rewarded by the jolt of Renjun’s surprise, the full unfurling of the smile when Jaemin pulls back. “That wasn’t very ethical of you,” Renjun says, pink-cheeked, not even bothering to try for a disapproving tone.

“I’m a finance major,” Jaemin says. “Ethics isn’t in my personal vocabulary.”

“Again: serial killer,” Renjun says. He flips the gun around so the grip’s facing Jaemin, and holds it out.

Jaemin closes his fingers around the gun, taking care to brush Renjun’s hands as he takes it back. “You’re sure?” he asks, partly for reassurance and partly because he knows the request for vocalisation will rile Renjun up.

Sure enough Renjun scowls, the flush glittering across his cheekbones deepening in colour. “Did I say I wasn’t?”

Jaemin sighs, theatrical. “How will I know what you want if you don’t tell me?”

“Just read my mind, it’s not that hard,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

Honestly, he isn’t wrong, but Jaemin won’t throw salt in the wound just yet. Jaemin adjusts his grip for security. “Okay,” he says agreeably, settling onto his knees so he’s leaning over Renjun, close enough to see his pupils blow wide.

Jaemin brings the gun up. Taps the lower edge of the barrel rim against Renjun’s bottom lip and Renjun’s mouth falls open, allowing Jaemin to slide the gun in, inch by careful inch, giving Renjun the space to adjust his breathing. His free hand slides over the back of Renjun’s neck, bracing the base of his head. From this angle he can admire the strain of Renjun’s jaw working to accommodate the width of the barrel. He’s been hard since the moment Renjun aimed the gun at him, but the vision of Renjun’s lips stretched around the barrel, eyes tar-dark and trained squarely on Jaemin, has his head swimming with want, the iron ache collecting behind his teeth.

Renjun’s trust is a rare and wary thing, bristles like an unfriendly cat, needs delicacy. Jaemin’s never lost sight of what it means to have that in his hands, how dizzying it is to know what Renjun looks like when he chooses to let go of the control he obsesses over nearly as much as Jaemin does. Hand cupping the nape of Renjun’s neck, he pushes the gun in and out of Renjun’s mouth, gently at first, building up the pace, the pretty sounds of Renjun’s throat working around the gun rushing straight to Jaemin’s cock.

Jaemin pulls the gun out of Renjun’s mouth and pushes him flat on his back with a hand to his shoulder and Renjun complies easily, though Jaemin’s more than aware it’s only for the moment. He nudges Renjun’s thighs further apart with the muzzle of the gun, runs it over the clothed outline of his cock through his underwear, the motion sending a full-body shiver rippling through Renjun. Bending down, Jaemin maps out the inside of Renjun’s thigh with his fingers, seeking out the hummingbird flutter of blood under his skin, chases it up with his mouth. Bites down over the firecracker pulse, then right at the soft pale skin near the crease of his hip. He sets the gun down so he can get Renjun’s underwear off, lick a stripe up Renjun’s cock.

“Jaemin-ah,” Renjun chokes out, and Jaemin lifts his head to flash him a bright smile before swallowing him down right to the hilt. Renjun’s hands come up to clutch at his shoulders, his hair, then fall away, like his fingers can’t grip on properly. Jaemin draws back, curls his tongue around the tip of Renjun’s cock, tasting the salt of precome. He bobs his head up and down a few times, before pulling off with a pop.

When he looks up from between the vee of Renjun’s legs Renjun has an arm thrown over his eyes, and that just won’t do. “Don’t hide, beautiful,” Jaemin says, tugging Renjun’s arm back down by the wrist, and Renjun’s answering baleful stare packs enough heat that Jaemin almost relents. “Hold still for me, okay?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Renjun mutters, the bite knocked out of the words by breathlessness, as Jaemin reaches for the bottle of lube on the drawer and uncaps it, dripping it generously over his fingers.

Renjun exhales sharply when Jaemin presses the first finger into him and Jaemin curls a placatory hand around his hip, holding him still, thumb circling comfort at the join of his thigh. It’s only when he slides the second finger in that he even touches Renjun’s cock, loosely closing his fist around the base of it while he fucks his fingers in and out of him, knowing the lack of pressure is going to drive Renjun crazy. And before long Renjun can’t stay still, keeps trying to push himself back against Jaemin’s fingers, buck up into his grip.

“You’re always so impatient,” Jaemin sighs, crooking his fingers slightly.

“Maybe if you didn’t—ah— _take so fucking long_ all the time,” Renjun snaps, shoving his hips up, but the press of Jaemin’s arm across his stomach keeps him firmly in place.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jaemin says, just because Renjun will resent it.

“You know I don’t care about—that,” Renjun pants.  

Jaemin hums. “About what?”

Even after a year of being together Renjun is still so embarrassed to admit to wanting anything out of Jaemin, doesn’t hate the reliance itself so much as the articulation of it, as if he isn’t completely transparent about it in the first place, actions a siren blare over his words. Actually Jaemin thinks Renjun, for all his fixation on meticulous self-construction, just likes to be _made_. He’s too all-or-nothing to capitulate gracefully, so Jaemin has to coax it out of him with fishhooks, every noise, every involuntary movement he draws from Renjun a small, sweet victory.

“Whether it hurts. _Fuck—_ just, just keep going.”

Jaemin strokes him through the third finger to ease the burn. The gun barrel isn’t that long but it’s wide and ridged, so Jaemin takes his time working Renjun open with his fingers, finding the angle that makes Renjun cry out, hips jerking upwards, a glassy, liquid quality to his gaze that burns Jaemin’s throat dry. When Jaemin withdraws his fingers so he can pour half the bottle of lube over the gun Renjun _whines_ , wrapping a hand around his cock, and it’s such an unexpected display of unrepressed vulnerability that Jaemin lets him be for a few moments before reaching up to pull his hand away, and Renjun makes another sound of protest but he doesn’t try again.  

At the first nudge of the muzzle against his entrance Renjun squeezes his eyes shut and hisses, and Jaemin ducks his head to press little kisses to Renjun’s thigh as he pushes the gun in, encouragements he’s not sure Renjun can really hear falling out of his mouth, _you’re doing so well, so good for me, you’re beautiful._ By the time the barrel is completely inside Renjun up to the trigger guard his grip on the bedsheets has gone white-knuckled, the pulled-drawstring shimmer of strain trembling down his legs. His head tips backward, the perfect line of his throat curving up, gleaming with sweat. Like he’s drawn by magnetism Jaemin leans up to graze his teeth over Renjun’s collarbone, then to kiss him properly, swallowing down the soft wordless noises Renjun’s making.

“Too much?” Jaemin asks, cupping Renjun’s jaw to get him to focus. Renjun opens his eyes, shakes his head, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His hips stutter, like he can’t decide whether to curl forward or arch back. “Then do you think,” Jaemin continues, pushing the gun in a little deeper, “you can come without being touched?”

Renjun freezes. He’s never been able to resist a challenge, has this visceral need to prove himself capable of anything the moment he sets his mind to it, and Jaemin can see the moment the determination clicks on behind his eyes like a lighter, that possessed lucidity slicing clean through the haze of desperation. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “yeah, fuck—of course I can, fuck you, watch me.”

So Jaemin does. With an intent that’s almost vicious Renjun drives his hips up, fucking himself open against the gun, and Jaemin just stares, transfixed by the slick slide of the barrel into him, the metal dark against Renjun’s skin and glistening. His cock smears precome over his stomach with each thrust but he still doesn’t make a single attempt to touch himself. Jaemin curves a hand around the back of his thigh, taking some of his weight.    

“I saw you swallow when I took the gun out,” Jaemin says. Torques his wrist. Renjun makes a hoarse, hitched gasp of a sound, mouth bitten red. “You wanted it right from the start, didn’t you? I _know_ you, Injunnie, do you think I didn’t notice how you nearly came with a gun down your throat?”

Renjun doesn’t respond, maybe can’t. His rhythm’s growing sloppy, erratic. From the hammering shallow catch to Renjun’s breathing Jaemin can tell he’s close, teetering on the edge, his cock heavy and flushed and untouched against his stomach. Slowly, deliberately, timing it so Renjun can hear, Jaemin brings his thumb around and clicks the safety off. Every muscle in Renjun’s body snaps taut, terror-tense, and he comes, arching off the sheets so violently Jaemin can slide an arm under him to ease the collapse, gently pulling the gun out of him, gathering him up, kissing him quiet.

Then Jaemin shoves a hand into his own pants, finally working a hand around his cock. He’s so hard it nearly hurts to touch himself, gasps at the shock of contact after so long, knows it won’t take long. Breathing deep, he shuts his eyes, a broken succession of images flaring up like sparks behind his eyelids, Renjun with the gun in his mouth, Renjun pushing his hips down onto the gun, Renjun’s live-wire gaze, and that’s enough to tip him over, flashing hot as he shudders and comes. And this time it’s Renjun who catches him, arms going around his shoulders, kissing the side of his throat, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.

“That was fun,” Renjun says, at last, lacing his fingers behind Jaemin’s neck. “But I think I should really get the gun. Next time.”

“Anything you want,” Jaemin promises, hand to Renjun’s cheek. Careful as he was the first time, as he’ll always be, and Renjun smiles like he knows exactly what that means.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the amount of time i spent looking up gun specs for this fic [crying emoji]
> 
> you can find me on twitter [@juncheolsoo](https://twitter.com/juncheolsoo) / cc [@inheritance](https://curiouscat.me/inheritance) ♡


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